Miss Carew remorselessly carried out her intention of going to
London, where she took a house in Regent's Park, to the
disappointment of Alice, who had hoped to live in Mayfair, or at
least in South Kensington. But Lydia set great store by the high
northerly ground and open air of the park; and Alice found almost
perfect happiness in driving through London in a fine carriage and
fine clothes. She liked that better than concerts of classical
music, which she did not particularly relish, or even than the
opera, to which they went often. The theatres pleased her more,
though the amusements there were tamer than she had expected.
Society was delightful to her because it was real London society.
She acquired a mania for dancing; went out every night, and seemed
to herself far more distinguished and attractive than she had ever
been in Wiltstoken, where she had nevertheless held a sufficiently
favorable opinion of her own manners and person.
Lydia did not share all these dissipations. She easily procured
invitations and chaperones for Alice, who wondered why so
intelligent a woman would take the trouble to sit out a stupid
concert, and then go home, just as the real pleasure of the evening
was beginning.
One Saturday morning, at breakfast, Lydia said, "Your late hours begin to interfere with the freshness of your
complexion, Alice. I am getting a little fatigued, myself, with
literary work. I will go to the Crystal Palace to-day, and wander
about the gardens for a while; there is to be a concert in the
afternoon for the benefit of Madame Szczymplica, whose playing you
do not admire. Will you come with me?"
"Of course," said Alice, resolutely dutiful.
"Of choice; not of course," said Lydia. "Are you engaged for
to-morrow evening?"
"Sunday? Oh, no. Besides, I consider all my engagements subject to
your convenience."
There was a pause, long enough for this assurance to fall perfectly
flat. Alice bit her lip. Then Lydia said, "Do you know Mrs. Hoskyn?"
"Mrs. Hoskyn who gives Sunday evenings? Shall we go there?" said
Alice, eagerly. "People often ask me whether I have been at one of
them. But I don't know her--though I have seen her. Is she nice?"
"She is a young woman who has read a great deal of art criticism,
and been deeply impressed by it. She has made her house famous by
bringing there all the clever people she meets, and making them so
comfortable that they take care to come again. But she has not,
fortunately for her, allowed her craze for art to get the better of
her common-sense. She married a prosperous man of business, who
probably never read anything but a newspaper since he left school;
and there is probably not a happier pair in England."